Where Danger Hides

by Terry Odell

  “Horrified at first, of course, but Mrs. Sanderson’s putting a positive spin on it. Charitable good works and all. Once she held them, she came around. A little. I’m not sure she’s ready to take them to the country club yet.”

  Relieved that the tension had eased, he tried to find a topic to talk about without losing the ground he’d made. Nothing came to mind. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his head back. After almost six weeks in Colombia’s heat, the damp San Francisco night air chilled him, even though it was August.

  “You cold?” she asked. “Your parka’s in the back.”

  He twisted and saw it spread on the backseat. He reached around, stifling a wince as sore muscles, reminders of Rafael’s handiwork, protested. “You kept it. Thanks.”

  “I hope you don’t mind that I let residents use it.”

  “Not at all. Glad it came in handy.” He recognized Miri’s street. Once they were inside her apartment, he’d come clean. She’d either accept him or she wouldn’t. Why did it scare him to think she might not? Too much time alone with nothing but his thoughts.

  She parked in the lot behind the building. He followed her upstairs, clinging to the rail, breathing too heavily. Hotshot had put him on fluids from Colombia to Miami, but he’d refused to go to the hospital once they were stateside.

  All he could think of was getting back to Miri. Some rest, some regular meals and he’d be fine. He made it to the couch and sat, toeing off his shoes while he waited for the dizziness to pass.

  Miri brought him a glass of orange juice. “Drink.” She hovered over him, waiting.

  His hand shook and he almost spilled the drink before he got it to his mouth. He sucked down half. She took the glass and set it on the coffee table. Still waiting. He couldn’t stand the silence.

  “What about the migrant project?” he asked.

  She stared at him like he’d been on the moon. “I take it you haven’t seen the news lately. Or the papers.”

  “I’ve been out of touch.” A Colombian hellhole wasn’t the moon. The moon would have been easy.

  “Patterson swears he was duped by his secretary and her sister. The sister, Wendy, was using her gift shops as a cover for smuggling drugs, but it was getting too hard to get the stuff in with all the new border security. Patterson’s secretary—”

  “Belinda,” he said.

  “Right. Belinda had access to everything regarding the project. Wanda had the Mexican connections, and she conspired with Belinda to set up a place where they could produce meth. Patterson claims he had no knowledge of her scheming with the contractors to modify the plans for the migrant worker community center and swears he wasn’t involved in drugs. Since no houses were built yet, there was no way to prove he was or wasn’t going to be smuggling workers in, or even turning a blind eye to whether or not they were legal. He’s still promoting the project. Insists it’s squeaky clean and promises full access to anyone who doubts it. It’s in the hands of the legal system. Patterson’s got a team of high-priced lawyers working to clear his name.”

  Something didn’t track. “What about the files you took from Patterson? You got those from his home computer, right?”

  “I did. I didn’t know what to do with them.”

  “Let me see.”

  She shot him a quizzical glance but powered on her laptop. “What are you looking for?”

  “Not sure. Maybe something will pop. But unless there was a darn good reason for Belinda to be working from Patterson’s home office, I’d say anything in these files might implicate him.”

  She clicked the document open. “If anyone can tie the files to the migrant community project.”

  “Let’s have a look-see.”

  She handed him the mouse. “You have the con, captain.”

  He smiled. It felt good. “Hobart Construction. I’m not an architect, but I’d say these plans are a good match for the room we saw at the community center site.”

  Miri leaned over his shoulder. Her scent teased, tantalized. He gritted his teeth. Slow down.

  “Wait,” she said. “Move over.” She all but pushed him out of the chair. She clicked a few times. “Here it is.”

  He stood behind her. “That’s the meth house explosion, right?”

  “Yes. This was in the paper. Look. She tapped the picture. The Dumpster. See it?”

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Hobart Construction. Doesn’t prove anything, though. They’re a big company.”

  “Maybe so, but if we tell Detective Braddock about this, can’t he trace the records and see if there’s a connection between the meth lab here and the one in the migrant place? And if Patterson’s hooked in somehow?”

  He rubbed his neck. He thought for several moments. “Give the files to me. Then delete them.”

  “On your say-so?”

  “Please, Miri. Trust me. I’ll deal with it.” Another time.

  “Trust you? You hurt me. You’re exactly like everyone else who broke promises or abandoned me. I tried to hate you. But I can’t. Tell me who you are, what you really do. And why you lied to me. Then I’ll decide if I can forgive you for disappearing for six weeks without a word.”

  “Five weeks, six days—” he checked his watch “—three hours, seventeen minutes and twenty-three seconds. But who’s counting?”

  She dropped to her knees. “Oh, God, Dalton what happened? It was something bad, wasn’t it? First, I was furious. Then I was scared because I thought you’d died back there with all the shooting, but if you had, I knew Mr. Blackthorne’s secretary would have told me when I called. So I was furious again.”

  “Come here, darlin’. Please.” He patted the couch.

  She kicked off her loafers, then sat beside him. He ached to put his arms around her, for what he hoped wouldn’t be the last time. Instead, he leaned forward for the juice glass. She met his hands halfway. He swallowed a groan at the contact.

  “Let’s start with an easy one,” Miri said. “You’re not a private investigator. Why did you lie?”

  “I didn’t. I never said I was a private investigator.”

  “But you didn’t deny it.”

  He finished the juice. “What I do, Miri, isn’t something I can advertise. I think you know there’s more to Blackthorne than what you see in their offices. We go places the government can’t. Officially, that part of the agency doesn’t really exist. You saw something of what we do, and you can’t tell anyone. I can’t tell anyone. As far as you’re concerned, I’m a private investigator. I know you’ll respect that.”

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  “All I can tell you is we had an emergency assignment. We left the country. I got back this afternoon and had a hell of a time finding you. Galloway House said you weren’t there, but wouldn’t tell me anything. Nobody answered at your apartment and your cell number was cancelled.”

  “Galloway House got new ones.” She toyed with the collar of his polo. “But you found me, super-sleuth.”

  He smiled. “I might not be a real PI, but I know how to follow the occasional clue. I had this scrap of paper with a phone number on it. You gave it to me. I called it.”

  “Elsie’s. At the time, I thought rocking babies would be good for you. I didn’t know your history or I’d never have done it.”

  “No matter. Elsie told me you’ve been there every night. She promised not to let you leave until I got there. I was stuck at Blackthorne for a debriefing, but I bugged out as soon as I could.”

  She was quiet for several heartbeats. “You smell good. Like you.”

  “I did take a couple of minutes to shower.”

  “Your parka. I didn’t let the residents use it right away. Not as long as I could smell you in it.”

  She leaned into him. He put his arm around her, and Rafael was forgotten. “You smell like you, too. With a little baby thrown in.”

  Another long, uncomfortable silence, but with Miri in his arms, he could bear it. This time, she spoke first.


  “Something bad happened, didn’t it?”

  He stroked her hair. “Yeah. But it’s over. I’m back.”

  “Until you go away again.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  “If I didn’t think so, I’d quit.”

  She quieted, and he pulled her closer. Wanting her. Needing her. Afraid to move. Afraid to close his eyes. Afraid he’d wake up back in the dark, alone, wondering when someone would come to give him his next beating. That she’d disappear, be another dream.

  “We can have tonight,” she whispered. Her hand brushed his erection through his jeans. “I’m not sure about anything else. But I want you tonight.”

  She found his lips with hers. Soft. Gentle. Feather light. He pressed his hips into her hand. Through the denim barrier, her fingers stroked his cock.

  One night would never be enough. But if it was, the memory would have to last a lifetime. “Let me take you to bed.”

  Miri refused to move. She rubbed her lips, then her cheek against his chin. He tilted her chin. “Does the beard bother you? I can shave.” He’d yank each hair by the roots if he had to.

  “No. I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before. It’s softer than stubble.” She kissed him, a quick and gentle caress of lips. “Tickles. I might like it.”

  “Darlin’, feel free to keep testing.” He pressed his mouth firmly against hers. Her tongue teased. She shifted, and her elbow dug into his chest.

  He gasped. “Please, darlin’. A bed.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and inched himself to a seated position, dragging her with him.

  She kissed him again. “Mmmh. Bed. Like we go to the bedroom? Get up and walk?”

  “Unless you can call Scotty and have him beam us there. Or the bed out here.”

  Somehow, they rose to a standing position, her hand still stroking him.

  He steered her to the bedroom. Without breaking stride, he flipped the light switch turning on the bedside lamp, backing her up until her knees encountered the bed. She sank onto the mattress. He stumbled, knocking her down, his body poised above hers.

  Chapter 35

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. A deep, probing, desperate kiss. The one she’d saved in her kiss bank, accruing interest for the last six weeks.

  “Darlin’,” he panted. “Slow down.” He tugged her hands from his neck and climbed to the middle of the bed. “Come here. We’ve got the night.”

  She didn’t want to slow down. She wanted him, every piece, every inch, every molecule of him. All at once. Now. She wanted to lose herself in his being. To entwine her molecules with his. She crawled to his side and tugged at his shirt. “Off.”

  He raised his arms. “Help yourself.”

  As she wrested the shirt up and over his head, he sucked air through his teeth. She tossed the shirt to the floor and leaned over, fumbling in the nightstand drawer for the condoms she’d bought six weeks ago. She dropped two on the table.

  She stopped at his bare torso. Beneath the mat of coarse brown hair, he was pale. Except for an array of yellow, green and purple bruises.

  “My God, Dalton, what happened to you?”

  “Got banged up a bit. Nothing’s broken. I’m fine.” He grinned, but there was no accompanying twinkle in his eyes. “Where were we?”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Darlin’ if there’s one thing I’m sure about, it’s that I want this. You. Now.”

  She nodded and reached to turn off the lamp. “Let me get the light.”

  “No.” He grabbed her wrist. “Leave it. I want to see you.” A disquieting tremble underlaid his tone. Something flashed in his eyes. Fear?

  She lay on her side beside him, propped on an elbow. “You’ll tell me if I’m hurting you, right?”

  He laughed, and this time, his eyes twinkled. “The only thing that will hurt is if you stop.” He fingered the hem of her shirt. “Your turn.”

  She slipped the cotton tee over her head, her nipples tightening beneath her bra as the air reached them. Straddling him, she leaned forward, luring his tongue with her breasts. He took the bait, nibbling through the sheer fabric of her bra. Pleasure shot through her. She positioned herself above his erection and lowered her hips, grinding against him.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned. He thrust upward, at the same time finding the clasp to her bra. “So much for slow.” He yanked the garment down and off. He raised his head, his lips straining to meet her pebbled nipples, and winced.

  “Wait,” she said. She moved to his side and got on her hands and knees. “You lie still.” She started at the top of his head, caressing, kissing. Inch by inch she worked down, past his forehead, his eyebrows. One eyelid, then the other. The super-economy sized pillows under his eyes. She traced the edges of his beard, his lips, first with a forefinger, then her lips. His breathing quickened, and he moaned softly.

  “God, that feels good.”

  “I’m glad. She continued down his body. Neck, shoulders, the hollows of his collarbones. She scraped her teeth along his nipples, and her own ached.

  She unfastened his belt, then popped the button at his waist. She thrust her hand inside, found his sac and cupped it. It puckered beneath her touch. Something was different. She lowered his zipper, then his jeans. No underwear, but that didn’t surprise her.

  “Um . . . did you get confused about where you’re supposed to shave?” She gave a playful tug to his whiskers.

  “Take too long to explain,” he said.

  Intrigued, she fondled him. Ridged, but smooth. His erection twitched.

  “Lift,” she whispered, tugging on his waistband. He raised his hips enough for her to tug his jeans off. She lowered her face to his groin, swirling her tongue over his balls. His hips bucked.

  She grasped his erection, sliding her thumb over its slick tip. “I want to taste you,” she said. “Is it . . . are you . . . did anyone . . . ?”

  “I’m clean, but—”

  “Shh. You relax and let me do everything.”

  “Too far to relax, darlin’. Oh my God.” He gripped her head, pressing her into his rhythm as her mouth captured him. “Oh my God.”

  His pleasure aroused her as much as his touch would have. She hummed softly.

  “Sweet lord. Stop.”

  Unrelenting, she shook her head, sliding her mouth along his length as she did.

  “Miri! Please. Inside. Now.”

  She released him. “You sure?”

  “God, yes.” His breathing came in labored pants.

  “Are you in pain?”

  “The good kind.”

  Her own desire made it easy to believe him. She tore open a condom packet and handed it to him. “You do it.”

  * * * * *

  Dalton slid the condom on while Miri kicked off her pants and peeled her underwear down her legs. He watched her, afraid if he took his eyes off her, she’d disappear like a mirage. No. He was home. In her apartment. In her bed. She was very, very real.

  When she straddled him again, he concentrated on her pleasure. She guided him inside. She was hot, wet, and ready, but he was readier.

  Slow down.

  He fondled her breasts, thumbing a nipple with one hand while his other searched between her thighs for her nub. He found it, wet and swollen.

  She whimpered. Moved faster against him, which carried him to the edge of the point of no return. The combination of pain and pressure built low in his back and spread through his groin. He battled to control the inevitable.

  “Miri,” he gasped. “I’m too close. Can’t wait.”

  She reached behind her, between his legs, and stroked his balls again. “Come. Come for me.”

  He lost it. Or had he found it? A soft voice whispered in his ear. “Come with me.”

  His universe exploded like a dozen flash-bangs. He thrust into Miri, faster and faster, aware of nothing, aware of everything. Pleasure, pain, colors, sounds, and a tiny voice
in his ear.

  She shuddered, then collapsed on him. Almost immediately, she pulled herself upright. “Are you okay?”

  “Never better.” She rolled off, but he snaked out an arm and snuggled her to his side. “Stay.”

  She slid the used condom from his half-erect cock. “I’ll be back.” For a heart-stopping moment, while she was in the bathroom, his universe emptied and he fought despair, however irrational.

  She’s here. She’s real.

  She climbed back into bed, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. He exhaled a shaky breath. She fingered the hair on his chest. “Tell me what happened to you.”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I have to know you’re not protecting me from what you think I can’t handle. Not knowing is worse. Guessing. Wondering. Like why you need the light on.”

  “Maybe I like to look at you.”

  “Maybe you have to be honest with me.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to say it out loud.” His voice broke, and he squeezed her tighter.

  “So you keep it bottled up inside until it festers, and cut me out of another part of your life. If we’re going to have anything, you have to share. Not the classified stuff. I understand that. But people have lied to me my entire life. They’ve gone off and left me and never come back. If you can’t be honest, we have nothing.”

  “You’re the reason I’d always come back. I’m in love with you, Miri. You saved my life.”

  “What? How?”

  “I had to tell you I loved you. And since I didn’t have the balls to do it before I left, I had to come back to tell you in person. No matter what they did.”

  “Tell me.”

  He clutched her closer, stroked her hair. “The usual captive stuff. Dark cell. Dirt floor, filthy mattress. Lousy food, what there was of it. Daily beatings. Someone holding a gun to your head, laughing while you wondered if this time, there would be a bullet in the chamber.”

  “God, Dalton, it’s not funny.”

  “No,” he whispered. “It’s not. But remembering hurts too much.”

  “You were there the whole time?”